Those We Can Still Save
by Cheeky Slytherin Lass
Summary: The war has taken one Creevey brother from this world. Minerva will be damned if she lets its aftermath take Dennis.


_Assignment 12, Muggle History, task 1: Write about someone getting drunk before seventeen._

 _Word Count: 814_

 _Hot Air Balloon: Hogwarts kitchens_

 _World Cup: professor/teacher_

 _Days of the Month, Gin Day: Write about someone getting drunk_

 _Summer: "I wish I wasn't wearing this shirt."_

 _Birthstones, sapphire: "What do you do when there's nothing but pain left inside you?"_

 _Gryffindor:Dennis Creevey_

 _Amber's Attic, Caribou Lou: Write about someone getting drunk_

 _Em's Emporium: Write the losses of war._

* * *

Minerva stands before the fruit painting, absolutely exhausted and studying the pear with heavy eyes. She has not yet decided if she is there for a small snack or something strong to numb her troubles. After a day divided between attending a few funerals for her students and helping to clean and rebuild Hogwarts, she just knows that she needs _something_.

With a sigh, she grazes her fingers over the painted pear. The painting gives way, and the professor enters the school's kitchens.

The house-elves are not around. Quite a few had lost their lives during bold stand in the final battle. Though the survivors stayed behind to continue their service to the castle, Minerva had stressed to them the importance of taking time to grieve.

As she ventures further into the kitchens, she hears a groan. Frowning, Minerva follows the source of the noise.

Dennis Creevey slumps against the walls. He drains the remaining contents of a wine bottle before setting it on the ground with the small collection of other empty bottles. Minerva is surprised to find him here. He had been eager to help with the repair efforts, only to vanish after a few hours; she had assumed he had gotten overwhelmed and went home.

With another groan, he leans back, his eyes closing. "I wish I wasn't wearing this shirt," he mumbles, his words a slurred string of nonsense. His small, trembling hands brush over the wine-stained white shirt. "'S hot…"

"It is not hot, Mister Creevey," Minerva says dryly. "You're just drunk."

Under ordinary circumstances, she would be furious with the boy. He is much too young to be drinking, and she, as his professor and Head of House, can't shake the automatic instinct to punish him. But she doesn't. She can still remember seeing Colin's body resting among the fallen in the corridors. He had been so small in death, so fragile. Minerva had needed a drink that night too.

Dennis lifts his wand. " _Accio_ wine," he mutters.

Minerva catches the bottle as it soars through the kitchen. Sighing, she sets it aside and shakes her head. "I think you've had enough, dear."

The boy looks up at her with pitiful, bloodshot eyes that are rimmed with red and puffy—from the alcohol or from crying, Minerva isn't sure. He sniffles. "I just want it to stop."

Her heart has broken so much over the past few weeks that Minerva had honestly believed it couldn't shatter further. She now realizes how very wrong she had been. "Oh, dear boy," she sighs, sitting beside him.

"What do you do when there's nothing but pain left inside you?" he asks, his voice shaking as badly as his hands.

"You fight," she says. "That's all you can really do."

He swipes his delicate hands across his teary eyes, sniffling. "I just want him to come home," he whispers, leaning against her and resting his head against her shoulder.

"Drinking isn't going to bring him back," she tells him, raking her fingers through his messy, tangled, blond hair. "It can only bring you trouble down the road."

At first, he doesn't respond. After several seconds, though, Dennis lets out a choked, pitiful sob. He shifts his position so that he can wrap his slender arms around her. "I don't care about trouble," he slurs. "I just miss him so damn much!"

Minerva turns and holds him close. Tears cling to her lashes, and she blinks them away. "You may not care, but others do. Do you want it to destroy you? What about your father? He's already lost one son."

She takes a deep, shaky breath. It's hard not to get emotional these days, especially where her students are concerned. These children have always been more than just students to her. Minerva has watched their growth and development over the years. She has cheered for them during the good and comforted them during the bad. Her students are her children, and seeing them suffer is too painful.

"Come on, Dennis," she says, climbing to her feet and offering her hand.

He stares at it, biting his thin lips, hesitation clear in his bright eyes. "Am… Am I in trouble?" he asks.

Minerva shakes her and offers him a warm smile. "No. We're going to get you sobered up, then you and I are going to talk," she assures him. "No judgement."

For a moment, he just stares at her. Minerva worries that might have zoned out without really listening. "'Kay," he says at last, taking her hand. "Thanks."

"There's no need to thank me."

So many of her students had perished in the battle, and Minerva had been unable to save them. But if there's even a chance that she can intervene and stop just one person from losing to their demons, she will do everything within her power to make it happen.


End file.
